


Romance sentimentale

by mysteryroach



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M, things of interest to literally no one but me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:30:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteryroach/pseuds/mysteryroach
Summary: In 1930, Sergei Eisenstein and his collaborators, Grigori Alexandrov and Eduard Tisse were in Hollywood trying to make a film. We know that Sergei Eisenstein and Grigori Alexandrov never hooked up on that trip, but what this story supposes is...maybe they did?Title from the film "Romance Sentimentale", made by Alexandrov and Tisse, usually attributed to Eisenstein.





	Romance sentimentale

**Author's Note:**

> i am literally the only person in the world who cares about this.

In the Spanish villa, Sergei was able to pretend that it was domesticity. Ivor and Eduard were there too, but everyone left him to his Grisha. Their rooms were separate but adjoining, and working at all hours allowed for Sergei to simply sleep in his chair when Grisha took to the bed. It was not intimate in the way he might have _chosen_ , but it was intimate all the same. Sergei woke up flushed from dreams of him. It was almost enough.

Grisha knew, of course, as everyone did, but he never teased Sergei, even when Sergei delighted in teasing him. Grisha tolerated it while being firm that there would never be anything between them, he loved and admired Sergei deeply but was not attracted to him, or to any man. In the beginning, this was unbearable. Sergei remembered one night when they’d slept in the same bed, trying not to weep from loneliness and silently hoping that Grisha would turn over to face him, knowing that he never would.

Sergei was used to it now. And he’d traveled to Berlin and met other men and kissed and touched them (without going all the way) and so for a while it just didn’t matter as much. But now it was just the two of them again in that little room, with a barrier that Sergei could not breach. Almost enough, but never enough.

Now, and only now, in that room, in the Spanish villa, sometimes Grisha would look at Sergei just a little too long and it made him wonder. He wasn’t the only one who noticed Grisha’s handsomeness, and Grisha easily could have fucked any woman across the USA if he had wanted, but he had a sort of pride that wouldn’t allow him to go through with it.

“I like Russian girls,” he shrugged. But it must have been getting to him. Even Sergei would have looked good enough after a few months abroad in a country that wanted this Red terror out. And Sergei, well. He went up to Jean Cocteau’s apartment in Paris and had that big hand of Orlac on his knee, a whisper in his ear about how Cocteau truly understood _Potemkin_ and it wasn’t Marx he saw on the screen. Of course, it all ended badly. Kiki had said the same about the film and when she drew Sergei’s portrait, she gave him Alexandrov’s mouth. It was frightening to be exposed but that portrait was so dear to him. Sergei had been to Lesbian bars and met women wearing his same wardrobe, he’d been to men’s clubs where he felt the roaming hands and lips of a stranger, but he had been too afraid. He hesitated moments too long and lost his chance forever. So it would be.

Sergei rationalized to himself that he needed to be eternally sexually frustrated in order to work. Release would soften his impulses and he would be useless. But he wondered if it were possible to consummate with an artistic collaborator, as opposed to some stranger in Berlin or some desperate girl back home, if it were with an _equal_ , what would be born then?

The dreams were always the same. In the theater days, under the stage, where they first met. He would put his hand on the back of Grisha’s neck, and instead of getting the look that made him immediately back off, Grisha pushed himself onto Sergei and he could feel his hot breath on his neck, he pulled him down, unbuttoned Grisha’s shirt, left kisses and hickies on his chest and eventually Grisha was going down on him, warming him up on the cold wood floor of the theater where they collaborated for the first time.

Of course it would happen in a creative space. They were writing another treatment that was bound to be rejected. It was hot and Grisha was more irritable than Sergei had ever seen him. Sergei paced around the room while Grisha laid back on the bed, covering his face with his hands and groaning.

 

“Sergei,” Grisha said, “what’s it like to be with a man?”

Sergei choked.

“Why are you asking?” Sergei said, unsure of what tone he should put on, so he just sounded annoyed.

“I don’t know. Distraction, I suppose”. Grisha pushed himself onto his side and leaned his head on his fist. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned from the heat and Sergei was struck not by how beautiful he was, but by his pose.

“It…” Sergei sighed. Despite the fact that he would be revealing nothing new to Grisha, he found himself unable to talk about it. He paced around the room quicker.

“Hey, stop,” Grisha said. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m making you nervous? Really? You’re all of the sudden interested in sex with men, out of what, idle curiosity, I don’t know, but I’m making you nervous?” Sergei laughed.

Grisha sat up. “It’s been a long time”.

“Well, that’s your fault. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess so.” Grisha looked at Sergei and looked away quickly.

Sergei sat down on the bed next to him. He couldn’t shake the thought that this was a plot to humiliate or expose him, even though Grisha was his closest friend.

Grisha’s hands were in his lap and he slowly laid one hand in the space between the two of them.

“What are you doing?” Sergei asked, and his voice was unexpectedly and uncharacteristically heavy.

Grisha hurriedly kissed him. It was dry and chaste.

Sergei smirked. “Well?” he asked.

Grisha shook his head. “It was all right”. Both of them burst out laughing.

“God, imagine if the rest of my reviews were so lukewarm”. Sergei said. They stopped laughing. Sergei turned to Grisha again, pushed that curl of hair away from his forehead. Grisha let him kiss him.

He even kissed back.

“This is all right?” Sergei asked, pushing Grisha gently back onto the bed.

“It’s all right”, Grisha said. “But I don’t…I’m not in love with you.”

“That’s fine,” Sergei said. He pushed Grisha’s shirt away from his shoulders.

 

In his dreams, of course, Grisha was on top of him, sucking him off, his eyes gazing up at him worshipfully. In his dreams. Now, Sergei found it was quite opposite. He felt a bit pathetic, but he knew he would never have a chance like this again. He covered Grisha’s body, kissing and licking him, holding him. He pushed his legs apart and Grisha twitched and started laughing, telling Sergei that his hair was tickling him.

 

“This is strange for me,” Grisha said.

“Do you want to stop?” Sergei asked.

“No.” Grisha smiled at him, and it was beautiful and intimate and trusting.

And so he went on. He flung Grisha’s legs over his shoulders and began to kiss the insides of his thighs. He went down and down until, 

He went all the way. Grisha’s hands were in his hair, tugging gently. It made his entire body spark. He loved him, he loved him, however one-sided, he loved him. He didn’t say it. Grisha pulled his hair a final time and thrust his hips slightly upward, his body tensed and then relaxed. Sergei laid down next to him. Grisha had a beautiful, dreamy look. Once again, Sergei thought about how much he loved him.

“Well?” he asked, waiting for his review.

“Oh, it was all right,” Grisha sighed deeply.

They never spoke about it again.


End file.
